Sylvie's Cowboy: Cinderella In Reverse

CHAPTER 13: HOT WATER

By the time the match had ended and Silvie completed the drive from Palm Beach to Clewiston, evening was settling into the canebrakes and cow pastures. Silvie's battered VW bug rattled up to Clarice's house as if to stop and visit. When she saw Walt's pickup truck parked in Clarice's driveway, however, Silvie shifted gears angrily and drove away, crying.

Clarice was ironing a man's shirt when she looked out a window in time to see the dilapidated Volkswagen pull away. Across the room, Walt lounged on the sofa, watching a television newscast. Clarice folded the half-ironed shirt and stacked it on top of a nearby basket of dry laundry.

On television, the newscaster droned, "This section of highway twenty-seven has claimed five lives so far this year, and authorities say that the stretch of road known locally as 'Dead Man's Curve' is the worst in the state with its heavy commercial--"

Clarice walked between Walt and the television and deposited the laundry basket by the front door. She turned to look at the screen and saw film of rescue workers and tangled vehicles, traffic backed up in a long line, and all the grisly aftermath of a horrible auto accident.

The newscaster continued, "--traffic, but budget cutbacks and manpower shortages hamper more stringent enforcement of speed limits and maintenance programs for the hundreds of eighteen-wheelers that roll this road month after month.

"In Orlando today, officials at Walt Disney World announced--."

Clarice walked in front of Walt to the television set and turned it off, stopping the newscaster in mid-sentence. She planted her posterior on the television set and confronted a drowsy, disinterested Walt. "That'll be you someday spread all over highway twenty-seven in pieces they'll have to pick up with a spoon. All because you were constantly jetting around between here and wherever Harry's little princess was holding court."

"Well, ain't you got burrs under your saddle, though. I been drivin' these roads for years without any trouble."

Clarice came to kneel beside the sofa and touch his hair with habitual tenderness. "Yeah, but you used to do it with your eyes open."

"I never seen you so moody before. You better get your hormones checked or somethin'."

"I want you out of my house," she said, slowly removing her fingers from his hair.

Walt suddenly wasn't slouching any more. "What?"

Clarice stood and moved away from him and the sofa. "Out. Right now. I can't stand it." She pointed to the laundry basket she had placed by the door. "And take your washin' somewhere else from now on."

Walt leaned his head against the back of the sofa so he could look up at her. "What? And, what is it that you suddenly 'can't stand'?"

"You. You and your, your pining."

Walt moved too fast, reacted to pain in his side, then eased himself up off the sofa. He moved toward Clarice, but she stepped back -- she would not let him close the gap between them. He saw this and stopped. "Who's pining?" he said.

"You. Like a moonstruck fool. Pining up a blue streak."

"Are your earbobs screwed in too tight or somethin'? I ain't doin' no 'pining,' Clarice."

"You are, Walter McGurk. Ain't I done it enough myself to know it when I see it?"

"You?" He looked quickly around the room as if he would find clarity somewhere. "When? What for?"

Clarice stomped her foot and clinched her fists at her side. "Hell's bells, cowboy! Everybody in town knows I been carrying a torch for years. What'd you think -- I was trainin' for the Olympics?"